Radio Silence
by The Croc Shop
Summary: Sometimes you have to cool your head before you can kiss and make up.


Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _The Princess and the Frog._ This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

I am hugely indebted to livejournal user **llamrei** for her kindness and her support, and her assurance that this is not, in fact, the greatest of all the travesties. Thank you.

* * *

**Radio Silence**

* * *

The kitchen closed at ten, a little later than usual, but there were more folks hit hard by the depression every month, it seemed, and it wasn't right to turn them away. Naveen made the rounds upstairs while Tiana checked the kitchen one last time, making sure everything was in order. They'd have to restock in a week or so, she thought, trying not to consider the expense of it.

"Everything upstairs is a-okay," Naveen reported. He skipped the last step and extended his arm to her. "Shall we?"

Tiana flicked out the last light in the kitchen. "Might as well," she said, taking his hand.

They walked together through the dark along the waterfront, heading back to a larger thoroughfare. The sky was clear, the evening so hot as to stifle, and cast out upon the river the stars shimmered, hazy and brilliant all the same. Two years ago the line for the Palace would have stretched halfway down the block, maybe farther, but things were different now. Times were leaner.

The trolley came by five minutes early. The driver didn't say much of anything; he tipped his hat and closed the doors behind them, and off they went.

She sat by the window and Naveen sat beside her, same as every night, his thigh fitted to hers.

"You look as if your head is going to fall off," he said, amused.

"It's been a long day," she said. "You must've noticed. I'm sure I saw you there, too."

He slipped his arm easily around her back, his hand massaging her upper arm. "I was so busy," he said, "and you know what they say."

The trolley skipped and she swayed, leaning into his side. "What do they say?"

He flapped his hand vaguely. "Something about the hours flying. Perhaps when you are having fun?"

"And did you have fun today?"

"So much fun," he said. "Where to begin." He rubbed her arm again, his palm warm through her sleeve. "My shoulder is your pillow, so please, do not hesitate to drool. But not too much," he said. "This is a very tasteful jacket and I would like to keep it that way."

"You're just too kind," she said and she rested her head on his shoulder, and watched New Orleans sweeping past, a kaleidoscope of lights and thickening shade. Around them the trolley whispered, rushing along its course through the glimmering night, parting the shadows as it swept through them. She dozed.

When the trolley drew near to their stop, Naveen shook her arm gently once. He said, "Come on, get up. It's time to go now," and she rose, blinking, from his arm.

*

On the stoop, despite the hour, Naveen bounced on his toes; his hands fluttered against his thighs.

"What's got you so excited?" she said. She fitted the key to the lock.

"What?" he said. "Nothing. Why would you say that?"

"Just a hunch," she said.

Tiana pushed the door open and he slipped in around her, coming around front with his hands held high. She kicked her shoes off without much caring where they went to and laughing, she ducked beneath his arm. Naveen danced around her again, blocking off the hallway.

"Wait, Tiana," he said. He held his hand up, a stop sign with fingers splayed. "Before you go, you must close your eyes."

"And why am I closing my eyes?"

"Because you must," he said.

"That's not much of an answer," said Tiana.

"It's very important that you do so. If you do not," he said, "I will never speak to you again."

"Give me a moment to think it over," she said. She tapped her chin once, twice, very thoughtful, and Naveen suffered not in silence, but with an inelegant groan.

"You've had your moment," he said. "Now come with me, please. But eyes closed, and no peeking."

"You know," she said, "I might have decided to just go on ahead upstairs. Brush my teeth, wash my face, go to bed."

"Might," he said. He twisted behind her, then covered her eyes with his hands. "Just to be sure," he said into her ear, his voice shivering through her skin.

He led her down the hall, his chest a steady presence at her back; his knees nudged her thighs along, pressing against her. Tiana held on to his arms and went as gracefully as she could, stumbling maybe once.

"Wait," said Naveen, "no, come back one step, _ouch_, that was my foot. You ground yourself very well."

"Sorry," she said, but her shoulders shook.

"Are you laughing?" he said. "I think you're laughing."

"Oh, no," she demurred, "I would never."

"You're very cruel, has anyone ever told you that?" he said. "One step this way, if you please. Beautifully done, my princess. You didn't crack even one of my toes." He shuffled around her, his chest brushing her shoulder. His breath tickled her ear again, nearer this time than before. "You can look now," he said, and he stepped away, into the sitting room proper.

The light was a shock: expected, but one for which she was still unprepared. She squinted into it and after a moment, an indistinct shadow resolved itself. Tiana took one step into the room, then stopped.

"Ta da!" sang Naveen. He threw his hands out toward the heart of the room. "Impressive, yes?"

"Naveen," she said. His name came out quiet, muffled under her tongue. "What is this?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he said, laughing at her, not unkindly, and it was: a console radio stood there in the center of the room, a massive, gorgeous console radio with lacquered panels and an elaborate carved face, the whole of it reminiscent of a small cathedral raised up in her sitting room.

Naveen went on: "It's the newest model, too, top of the line. Twelve tubes! The clarity, it's astounding. Here, let me show you--"

"Naveen," she said again. "Why is this in our house?"

"You've given up so much these last few months," he said as he fiddled with the dial. He smiled at her over his shoulder. "I thought, perhaps..."

"You know we can't be spending money on things like this." She gestured sharply to the radio, so grand and tall, gleaming beneath the lights.

"Why not?" said Naveen. He smiled still, but there was an edge now, creeping into it. "We have the money."

"No," she said. "We don't. Your parents have the money. We're asking enough of them as it is to keep the restaurant going without you fiddling money down the drain." Her voice climbed, rising to a point.

His smile was gone. "Thank you for the concern," said Naveen, "but you needn't worry about my parents or their vast riches. It's my inheritance I'm 'fiddling down the drain.'" He wriggled his fingers downward, demonstrative.

"I don't care whose money it is," she snapped. "You shouldn't be spending it on, on fancy toys, not when we're just making do."

"Fancy--" His mouth compressed. "This is not a toy, Tiana. It is a _radio_. It's useful; it has a purpose. I thought you would like that."

Tiana covered her face; her fingers dug into her scalp. "We already have a radio!" she said between her palms. "A good one!"

"And now we have a better one," he said, his voice rising to match hers. "I don't understand, why are you so angry about this?"

"Because!" said Tiana. She flung her arms out. "Because you're spending money we don't have on things we don't need for I don't even know why."

"It's a gift!" he shouted. "For you! A very nice gift, so yes, thank you, Naveen, but of course, my dearest Tiana, you are very welcome."

Her heart beat so fast and strong, she felt as if her head was filling up with air.

"I don't care what you do with that thing," she said. "I don't care if you give it back or you break it into parts, but I don't want it and I do not want to see it again."

"Tiana!" he said.

She was gone then, sweeping down the long hallway to her study. She slammed the doors shut behind her and twisted the lock in place, then threw herself down at the desk. A pen rolled off and onto the floor, where it spun once, then settled. Her heart rushed on, beating in her ears, and she waited a long moment for it to settle, too.

Through the doors, she could hear Naveen calling her name, distant at first, now closer. His footsteps stopped outside the study; his heel scraped across the floor. He said nothing and neither did she. She folded her hands together in her lap, holding her fingers so tight the bones ached. He turned away. Tiana let her breath out through her teeth.

She found the daybook in the first drawer and the ledger beside it. Taking up both daybook and ledger, and the pen which had fallen to the floor, she went to work.

When she had finished accounting for the day - another string of losses, not quite so bad as the week before - it was late and the remainder of the house dark. She turned out the light in the study and set up the stairs, minding the weak step near the top; it tended to creak. Their bedroom was quiet, the lights there out as well, but through the window moonlight streamed, cool and luminous, a silver wash spilled out across the bedsheets. Naveen faced the door, curled up on his side with his back to her half of the bed, but his eyes were closed and his breathing even. The moonlight ran white through his hair.

Tiana changed in silence from the day's wear into her summer nightshirt, a light thing, near see-through, which shirt Naveen had sung praises of just the night before. She shrugged out of that nightshirt and into something else, something heavier. She slipped into the bed and turned her face resolutely to the window, her back to Naveen's back. The moon was bright, even through her eyelids. She pulled the sheets up over her head.

*

The sun woke her before her alarm had the chance. The light came in through the window, a thin light, weak in that early hour. Tiana turned her face away and Naveen voiced a complaint, a sigh very near to her. His breath gusted dry on her shoulder. About her waist, his arm tightened.

It was a familiar embrace, his palm heavy on her hip, his thigh thick between her legs, and in the lingering dullness of recent sleep, she responded; she slipped her hand up the bare stretch of his arm. His mouth drifted warm and aimless along her shoulder, closing in upon her throat. Beneath her shirt, his fingers stroked up her belly, sliding through the fine layer of sweat there on her skin. Why she'd put on this sweltering shirt instead of that shimmery one, she didn't know, and then she did: like a drink of ice water turned over in her lap, the events and the words of the night before washed over her.

Tiana extricated herself from his wandering hands, his lazy morning kisses. Naveen complained again, low in his throat. He didn't open his eyes. Six-thirty-nine, said the clock by the bed.

She washed up in the bathroom down the hall, cleaning off her face and running a wet cloth over the rest of her. The water was cold, hard like a blow. She came back to dress quickly in that sunlit room, pulling on a shift and her dress and digging up stockings from the back of the drawer. Naveen slept on, his arm spread out across her half of the bed, his fingers dangling off the edge. Tiana popped her earrings in, then headed downstairs.

Naveen came down at five after seven, bleary-eyed, his mouth still soft with sleep. The lines of his jacket were immaculate, but his tie was crooked. He hesitated at the threshold to the kitchen. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," said Tiana. She shoveled some eggs - scrambled and mixed with tabasco, like he liked them - onto his plate, next to the hotcakes. She turned back to the stove.

After a moment he pulled his chair out, that uneven leg stuttering across the floor.

On the trolley Tiana watched the streets roll by, faster now. The houses gave way to the businesses, the small shops and the eateries, a quarter of them closed, none of them hiring. Layered over the passing shops in the glass, Naveen's reflection wavered. The car shook, jogging on the rail. Naveen's thigh pressed against hers, a sudden, solid weight; her shoulder bit into his arm. The trolley settled and he shifted, leaning into the aisle.

*

The Palace opened at nine sharp. Bruce called out sick, so that was one down in the kitchen, but the volunteers showed right on time to man the bread lines. As expected, the morning rush hit about nine-twenty and pushed on through to the early afternoon.

Tiana stayed on her feet through it all, serving an hour on the line, then playing her part as host in the restaurant proper, where those who could pay did, and working double-time in the kitchen to make certain they were making enough for everyone, no matter if they were paying or not.

She saw Naveen now and then as she made her rounds on the floor and in the kitchen. She caught fleeting impressions of his jaw, the slope of his shoulders, his hands twisting as he illustrated some comment to a group of men waiting in the bread line. They laughed, and one of the men said, "You're all right, boss." Naveen mock-bowed. She didn't stick around.

Louis wandered into the kitchen during his break, slinking between the chefs, most of whom were by now inured to the sight of an alligator walking the floor with a trumpet pinned between his teeth.

"Hey, Tiana," Louis called. He rose up on his legs and leaned forward onto the counter, crossing his arms beneath him. "Mm, that smells good. Listen," he said, in a hushed sort of voice, "I'm just wondering, are y'all fighting?"

Tiana tasted the gumbo sitting on the back stove and blanched. She cast about for the nearest set of spices, and found them on the island behind her. "Who's fighting?" she said over her shoulder. Coriander, paprika, ginger: cumin. She nicked the red pepper as well.

"You and Naveen," said Louis. "He ain't played once today and I've already finished up my third set." He twirled his trumpet.

"How should I know why he's off sulking?" she said. She thumped her finger against the jar of cumin, shaking it loose, then thumped it again. "You're going to have to ask him that yourself."

"I got you," said Louis, thoughtful. He brightened. "Hey, Tiana, serve me up some of that gumbo, if that's all right with you."

"Give me just a minute and I'll get you a bowl," she said.

As Louis danced out, rhapsodizing over his mixing bowl full of gumbo, one of the assistants whispered, "Is it true? Are you fighting?" Two of the cooks standing near leaned in close.

"We're just fine, thank you," she said, smiling at them all. "Sebastien! Would you please keep an eye on those catfish?"

The small crises of the day advanced, one hot on the heels of the other, to be borne with grace and practiced serenity, and neatly resolved. She turned once, anticipating some clever remark, but of course Naveen was not there to deliver it. Celeste looked curiously back at her, the pot of crawfish bubbling between them.

"It's nothing," said Tiana. "Just thought I heard something."

"Long day?" said Celeste.

"Very," she said.

*

Night came soon enough.

On the trolley again, making their way home, Tiana and Naveen sat together, but apart, his knee touching hers only when the car swayed. She kept her eyes on the window. New Orleans was still bright, a city flush with light, but the shadows between the lights were darker now, darker and deeper, as this business closed its doors and a bank repossessed that house.

Summer night and her shoulders were cold. She crossed her arms over her chest, hunched her shoulders high. In the glass his reflection looked to her, his face unreadable, the details lost in the night. He looked to his shoes -- his hair fell into his eyes -- then away. In his lap his fingers flexed, then stilled.

They ate in silence that night, Naveen in the kitchen, Tiana locked in her study. She finished the ledger for the day, then went over the last two months, contrasting figures and making sense of the variations.

It was dark again when she went upstairs and Naveen was well asleep. Tiana lingered in the doorway, watching his jaw work in his sleep, thinking of the way he'd smiled at her over that silly console radio.

Thing was, they'd talked this over plenty of times. No needless expenses, no extra purchases, nothing they couldn't do without. That car she'd looked at before the downturn hit the _Palace_ and the rest of New Orleans -- well, she could make do with the streetcars. Riding the trolley was cheaper than paying for a new car, and finding a place to house it and springing for gas, and keeping it up when it started to come apart.

She had more now than she did just six years ago: a nice house, which was more than a lot of folks had these days, and her restaurant, with just enough to keep the _Palace_ going and the soup kitchen working out of it. She had Naveen.

Tiana changed into her nightshirt and slipped beneath the sheets. His back was very wide, but his shoulders slumped, sleep dragging the tension out of them, making them small. She set her hand between his shoulder blades, resting her fingers on that slight bend in his spine. She closed her eyes. After a time, she slept.

*

Come morning, she woke alone: a first, in five years of marriage. The clock ticked steadily, the small hand marking eight after six, and through the window the sunlight shivered. Tiana stretched her hand out across the bed, through the sheets he'd left rucked carelessly up the sides. Nine after six. She dressed.

Wherever Naveen had got to, it wasn't downstairs: the kitchen was silent, the lounge empty. In that silent, empty kitchen, she cracked three eggs over a heated skillet and mixed them up, splashing in tabasco at intervals. She ate the eggs out of the skillet with the fork she'd used to whisk them and if she preferred her eggs sweet, with milk and a little sugar, well, she didn't much mind them spicy, either.

Seven o'clock rolled around. She waited until a quarter after, then she left, locking the door behind her.

*

At the Palace, a string of minor catastrophes unfolded: Bruce showed but Henri didn't, and the scheduled produce delivery was late, finally arriving well into the morning rush. Tiana gave the driver a piece of her mind: "We needed this shipment at eight this morning, on the dot, and here you finally come rolling in at noon?"

"Look, I got here as fast as I could," said the driver. He gestured curtly, his aspect sour. "You seen the traffic?"

Of all the ridiculous lies she had ever heard.

"Traffic is not that bad," she said. "Least you could've done was ring us up to let us know you'd be late."

"With what?" said the driver.

"A phone, I expect," said Tiana.

The kitchen staff finished unloading the crates a few minutes later. The driver gunned it, tearing back down the wharf, his truck rattling over the cobblestones.

Tiana clenched her hands, then unwound her fingers. "You're okay," she said, soft. "You're cool. You're calm. You are one collected lady." She forced her fingers flat again.

"That was very impressive," said Naveen. "But you were too kind."

She turned and found him lounging in the doorway, one leg crossed over the other. His sleeves were rolled up, pinned high on his arms, which tensed when he crossed them over his chest. He smiled at her.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello yourself," she said, into the silence between them. The quiet dragged.

"I missed you this morning," she said. She wished she hadn't or that she'd managed a lighter note: Naveen's smile widened. Tiana lifted her chin. "When did you get here?"

"Oh," he said, "not too long ago. Ten minutes, maybe. I was talking with Harrison and his boys for a while; they're not doing so well."

"I heard," said Tiana and it was easy enough, slipping into this routine. "George lost his job Friday. The factory's closing down. I'll be surprised if it lasts the month." Another one, gone.

Naveen stirred. "You were right, by the way." At her look, he nodded after the truck, long vanished. "The traffic is very light."

"Noon on a Tuesday in this heat?" said Tiana. She scoffed. "Wasn't that hard."

"You'd think he could come up with a more convincing lie, but." He shrugged. "Apparently he is a man of limited imagination. Well," he said brightly. He pushed off the frame and pivoted on his polished heel. "I'm going to see what Louis is doing, all right?" he called back to her, as he vanished into the dark recesses of the Palace.

Around at the front of the Palace, Louis played beneath the sun for the benefit of those stragglers in line who hadn't yet made it inside; the sound of his trumpet drifted on the hot wind. Tiana shook out her skirts, which clung to her thighs, damp with sweat.

"Well, Miss Tiana," she said. She turned her face up to the sun, so bright above her. "And just what are you doing standing around out here?"

She slipped back in to the kitchen, where Celeste and Pelletier were sharing a vocal and very heated difference of opinions on the matter of the appropriate preparation of redfish court-bouillon.

"Step back, the both of you," Tiana said to Celeste and Pelletier scowling beside her. "Let me show you how you do it."

"You're in a good mood," said Celeste meaningfully.

"What exactly were you planning on doing with these baby tomatoes?" said Tiana. "Pelletier first, then you, Celeste."

*

Her mother arrived for an early dinner, eaten at a small table set up outside, at the same time she did most every week. They talked about the factory closing, then the cat Eudora had adopted last winter. "She's half-afraid of her own shadow still," said Eudora, "but she's just about the sweetest kitty," which seemed a generous thing to say about a cat that held a deep and personal grudge for most everything, from the pillow she slept on to the dirt in her fur to the texture of her food.

A comfortable silence stretched out as Eudora finished her crawfish etoufee. The sun was sinking lower now, not yet to the horizon, and the light on the river was darker, more orange than white, more red than yellow.

"Did you and Daddy ever fight?" said Tiana. "I mean, really fight. Not-talking-to-each-other fight."

"Oh, Lord, yes," said Eudora. She laughed softly at Tiana's expression. "Not often, you understand, but me and your daddy, we'd butt heads every now and then. We tried to hide it from you, you were so little."

"Well, you did a good job of it," said Tiana. She fiddled with her straw and looked out over the wharf, to the water. "What did you fight about?"

"The same things as everyone else," said Eudora. "Money, mostly. Your daddy was always saving for that restaurant of his, cutting corners, scrimping everything he could. And I was trying to make sure he didn't save all that money. Some of it we had to use. We had bills to pay and that old sewing machine of mine only lasted so long, and the roof fell in that one summer, you remember that? And then you started growing."

Eudora smiled to herself. "But we worked it out every time," she said. "Even if sometimes we'd go a couple days without really talking. You have to cool your head, sometimes."

Tiana looked down to her hands. Eudora leaned over then and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulled her close. "You'll be all right, Tiana," she said. She kissed her brow.

Tiana turned, resting her head on her mother's shoulder. Her mother patted her arm and rocked her gently, side to side.

"Mama," Tiana said, "you know if it's too much, taking care of that house by yourself. We've got room. And I sure wouldn't mind it if you moved in with us."

Eudora squeezed her shoulders once. "Oh, babycakes, I'm fine. Me and that house, we're growing old together." Tiana felt her mother's smile against her brow. "But I'll keep that in mind. Just in case the roof falls in again."

Tiana laughed into her mother's embrace.

"Now," said Eudora, "are you going to tell me what you've been doing with this restaurant of yours or am I going to have to ask that gator? You know I don't understand a word that comes out of his mouth."

"Hold on and I'll tell you," said Tiana, and for just a moment she hugged her mother tight, remembering the way it felt when she was small, small enough that her entire world was her mother and her father and that little ramshackle house with the patched roof and the porch that sagged when it rained.

"I know," said Eudora.

*

Tiana locked up at a quarter past ten; another late night. Louis shouted his good nights up to them from the river, then trumpeted a slow lullaby, rolling out across the water: one final good night, to New Orleans.

"Abinaza!" Naveen shouted to him. "And look out for the boats, my friend." He turned his easy smile on Tiana, who fussed with her hat, pulling it down over her ears. "You are lovely in the moonlight, my deritta luma," he said. His smile creased his cheeks.

Tiana didn't know what to say to him: to do in response to this concentrated effort to gloss over the ugliness from before. She put the key to the Palace in her bag and slung her bag over her shoulder, and joined him on the street.

As they walked, Naveen swung his arms, his hands in his pockets; his elbow brushed her arm, lightly. His steps were perhaps a little jaunty.

"Where were you this morning?" she said.

"A-ha!" said Naveen. "That ... is a surprise."

Tiana looked at him, real sharp, and Naveen laughed, doing a graceful two-step. "No, you will like this one," he said. "I hope, anyway. If you don't, I give up." His toes scuffed the cobblestones, counting out the four-count. Beneath the waning moon, his shoes gleamed.

"Don't stop just yet," she wanted to say, but they were at the line now and the trolley was bearing down on them in its stately way, the lights rolling up to them.

Naveen gave her a hand up, his fingers curling around her wrist, and when they sat together, their knees knocked once; his hip fitted to hers. Tiana folded her hands in her lap. The trolley swayed and so did she, and Naveen did not lean away.

*

At the house, he danced up the steps on his toes and bowed, gesturing to the door, which she unlocked, pretending to ignore the way he peeked up at her through his curling bangs. She took her shoes off in the entryway and set them neatly by the door, the left beside the right. Naveen swept in around her, not bothering to take off his shoes; his footsteps echoed down the hallway, his heels ringing out.

"I have something to show you," he said, his voice distant through the walls.

Tiana closed the door and locked it again, and hung her hat up on the coat rack by the front closet. The entryway was dark, but in the hallway a light shone, bright. She followed it. At the door to her study, she hesitated: she set her fingers on the door, felt the smoothness of the wood against her palm, thought of the ledger sitting in its drawer.

From the sitting room, voices, soft, speaking quickly one over the other. Tiana took one step, then another, her hand trailing down the wall. She came to the sitting room and there stopped, arrested in the doorway.

"--and now we turn our ears and our dancing shoes to Duke Ellington and his fabulous orchestra, presented to you live from St. Louis--"

"Ta da," said Naveen. He gestured to the center of the room and sitting there on the end table, the square, plain, graceless radio from which the opening strains of East St. Louis Toodle-Oo poured.

Naveen stood just inside the room, near enough she could reach out and set her hand on his arm, so she did just that.

Tiana said, "What did you..."

"I returned it," he said. He smiled at her: a funny, awkward smile that wrinkled his nose. "The man who sold it to me, he refused to take it back. No refunds! The state of the economy! And anyway, how was I to prove I'd even bought it from him? Luckily I'm very charming," said Naveen, "and I remembered to keep the receipt, for which I thank you."

"I keep telling you," she said, because that was the easiest thing to say. "Always keep a record of every purchase."

"So I've learned," he said. "I will do my best not to forget this lesson. I promise nothing."

East St. Louis Toodle-Oo bled into Mood Indigo, the tempo sliding down, down, slow and melancholic. Tiana mirrored it, sliding her hand down his arm to catch upon his elbow. She looked to their old radio, playing on, and said, "Thank you."

Naveen shifted, reaching up to take her hand in his own. He looked down to their fingers, twining.

"You were right, by the way," he said. "We didn't _need_ a new radio. And it really was very expensive. Hideously expensive. The old radio, it's just as good."

"Maybe not as pretty," said Tiana. She held his hand tightly, squeezing it. "Or as advanced."

"None of those things," said Naveen. He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. "I'm sorry," he said. "But I wanted to do something nice for you. I thought, She's working so hard all the time, maybe she would like this. I didn't think it all the way through, evidently."

"Maybe not," she said, smiling.

Mood Indigo rolled into the St. Louis Blues; softly a woman began to sing. Naveen swayed, his knees brushing her skirt. Lightly, Tiana stepped forward. His arm came up around her.

"It was a nice thought," she said. "But I didn't need that radio and I didn't want it either. I've already got everything I need. This house. The Palace. Mama, my friends." She let each linger between them. "And you," she said. "I've got you."

"Wow," said Naveen. He leaned down, touching his forehead to hers. So close, she could not see his smile. "What do I even say to that?"

Tiana turned her face into his chest. His heart beat beneath her ear, a quick thrumming which betrayed him as surely, she imagined, as her heartbeat betrayed her. "I'm sorry I got so mad at you," she said into his throat.

"We are both of us very apologetic this evening," said Naveen. He pressed his smile into her hair.

"I'm not that sorry," said Tiana. She looked up at his chin, her cheek flush with his collar. "We _both_ agreed we wouldn't spend any money on things we didn't need."

"One of us is very apologetic, anyway," he muttered, but he rubbed his hand in a widening circle across her back and swayed again, light on his toes.

"And now the purple dusk of twilight time," sang the woman far off in St. Louis, each note a trembling drop, "steals across the meadows of my heart. High up in the sky the little stars climb..."

"We should probably get to bed," said Tiana. "We've got another early morning ahead of us."

"Yes," said Naveen, drawing her close, "we should do that."

So much left to do: the daybooks, the ledger, coordinating the menus for the coming week. His hand was steady on her back and his arm relaxed around her waist, the shifting of his hips as he stepped acutely familiar. How many days since they'd last held each other like this? Not very many, she knew. His heart beat one-two-three in her ear.

"Maybe one dance," she said.

"If that's what you want," said Naveen, and it was.

* * *

This story was originally posted at livejournal on 01/09/2010. I've claimed Tiana/Naveen at the livejournal community **30_kisses**, for which I must write one story for each of the thirty prompts provided. This story was written for the prompt **radio-cassette player**.

Duke Ellington and his orchestra performed as the house band at the Cotton Club until 1931, when the Depression's impact on the recording industry necessitated a change, at which point he (and his orchestra) hit the road, touring the U.S.A. as well as Europe. I don't know if he performed in St. Louis in summer of 1931, but for the purposes of this story, let's say he did.

The song the woman sings at the end is "Stardust," composed by Hoagy Carmichael in 1927, with lyrics by Mitchell Parish, added in 1929. It's a very melancholy song about love lost, which doesn't fit the conclusion of this story at all, but I love it and I love the wistful mood it sets. My absolute favorite arrangement is the gorgeous, longing cover by the inimitable Nat King Cole included on the best-of album, _The World of Nat King Cole_.


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